


i feel something (when i see you)

by tophsgf



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Gay Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Alternating, Sokka (Avatar)-centric, Suicidal Ideation, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, because of fucking ozai, elite s2 au basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tophsgf/pseuds/tophsgf
Summary: There, in the too-large bathroom of a club that Sokka doesn’t even particularly like, is where it hits him. For all his parties, for all the people he’s surrounded by, it seems to Sokka that Zuko is completely alone.He's supposed to be getting information, supposed to be avenging Suki. But all he's doing is realizing that the rich kid who once seemed so untouchable is just as damaged as the rest of them.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	i feel something (when i see you)

**Author's Note:**

> haaaay! this has been in my drafts since october and i finally decided it was time to post it. obviously, this is loosely based on elite season three, because i wanted to write a zukka fic w the samucarla dynamic.   
> title is from icu by phoebe bridgers!

“Hey,” Sokka starts, approaching Zuko carefully. “Listen, the thing is, I don’t know who to ask, do you think Mai would mind if I attended the wake?”

Zuko looks at him blankly. 

“You’re going,” Sokka prompts, “aren’t you?”

Zuko blinks. Raises an eyebrow. Rolls his unfairly pretty eyes.

And then he walks away.

“Wow,” Toph’s voice comes from behind him, amusement evident in her tone, “you sure won him over.”

“Shut up.” 

Sokka hasn’t been at Caldera Academy that long. He transferred with Katara and Aang last year, but most of the students ignore his existence. It’s because he’s there on scholarship, he knows that. Suki was the first person to really see him. She teased him and challenged him and saw past all of his bravado. She never saw him as Katara’s brother or Aang’s friend. With her, it was just him. That was enough. Or, in hindsight, he thought that was enough for her.

But it wasn’t. Suki, in all her kindness, was looking for something Sokka couldn’t give her. She was looking for someone to make her feel alive. Someone like Jet. Someone who was fast-talking and clever and was everything she’d been told to stay away from. 

Sokka had known Jet for years at that point. He knew he couldn’t compare to someone like that. A wildfire. Unpredictable, uncontrollable, irreplaceable. Someone so far above the mundane of the every-day. 

Suki was like that too. Maybe that’s why she and Jet clashed so well. Maybe that’s why they crumbled so spectacularly. Maybe she and Jet had the sort of all-consuming love, the kind poets write about.

The kind Sokka wasn’t enough for. The kind Suki couldn’t imagine living without.

Later, he’d learn that they wanted to elope. To move somewhere beautiful, leave everything behind.

Now Suki is dead. 

Suki is dead, and Zuko doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he is, however indirectly, to blame for the fact that she will never see her nineteenth birthday.

Suki, vibrant and young and compassionate; Suki, the only one out of all of them who ever understood that life was more than family loyalty and keeping up the appearance of prestige. 

What had she told him that night at his father’s gala? She was drunk, but her dance steps never faltered. Suki was always good at concealing herself. “This fucking place will drag him down,” she had hissed when Zuko had said something stupid about Sokka’s presence, “and so will you. I won’t let that happen.”

_ And so will you.  _

They always had a tumultuous relationship, he and Suki. They were practically forced together as children, raised to be best friends. But Suki had never adhered to what anyone decided for her, and she always seemed to be disappointed with Zuko for not seeing the world the way she did. For not being brave enough to rebel against his father. 

He can’t understand why she couldn’t see Ozai’s ruthlessness, what happened to Azula when she showed even the smallest inkling of vulnerability. Suki’s bravery bordered on recklessness, and Zuko’s always been reckless, but he’s never been brave. 

It’s a lot harder to see the extent of the hurricane when you’re standing in the eye of the storm. Azula is living proof of that, shouldering a burden no one else could ever even attempt to carry. He’s accustomed to consequence. Knows its joys personally, knows the exact feeling when the weight of what you’ve done sets in. The one that feels eerily similar to the time he almost drowned.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

You’re held down, pushed under a current that has no intent but to destroy you. Struggle is pointless. When fear sets in, you’re already thoroughly fucked.

As Zuko watches Sokka carefully from across the library, whatever Ty Lee is attempting to tell him coming out garbled — like he’s underwater. It occurs to him that he has always been drowning. always struggled against the current, frenetic, clumsy.

Maybe that’s why Suki was so angry at him that night. 

That night, Sokka attends Suki’s wake. Mai isn’t there, which isn’t entirely surprising. She’s been a bit off the rails since Suki died. Sokka can’t blame her — Mai’s been living with Suki since her parents moved to Ba Sing Se, and they were sisters in every instance but blood. Thing is, though, Mai hates him. Especially since she thinks he was the one who introduced Suki to her murderer. Not exactly an unreasonable reaction, all things considered. Even if she’s wrong.

Zuko isn’t standing with the other attendees, instead, he’s standing beside a crypt a few feet off from where the wake is taking place. Sokka can feel his amber eyes burning a hole in his back, and when their eyes meet, something akin to acknowledgment flashes in his expression, before it goes back to a mask of neutrality. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Zuko tells him.

“And what about you?” Sokka challenges, unsure exactly what sort of response he’s looking for, “you and Suki weren’t exactly friendly.”

In his peripheral vision, he sees Zuko narrow his eyes, a far cry from the disinterested expression just moments prior. “How would you know?”

“Suki told me everything.”

“Did she?” Zuko’s voice is cold, amber eyes unflinching. “Did she tell you that your buddy got her pregnant?”  _ No. The answer is no.  _ Suki did not tell him that. And it must be obvious because Zuko’s expression softens slightly. “Suki did what she liked to us,” he gestures between the two of them, pale hands lined with scars that Sokka finds himself desperately wanting to know the origins of, “and here we are.” Zuko sighs, shoving his hands into the pockets of a jacket that probably costs more than Sokka’s father makes in a year. “Mourning her.”

“Suki didn’t deserve what happened to her,” Sokka says, more forcefully than necessary.

Zuko merely shrugs, expression heavy with an emotion Sokka can’t quite decipher. “Since when do we get what we deserve?”

Zuko turns his attention back to the service, so Sokka takes a moment to study him, the elegant line of his jaw, the warmth of his cheeks. Zuko holds himself like no teenage boy Sokka has ever met, elegant and regal where most are gangly and bumbling. It’s like he was raised to be constantly observed.

Considering how narcissistic so many of the wealthy families are, he probably was. 

Azula, Zuko’s sister, is the picture of a golden child. Her uniform is always perfectly tailored, never a hair out of place in the styled updo that must take quite a bit of time to perfect. She’s exactly what you expect the daughter of Ozai Huo to be, at least when it comes to appearance. 

Zuko is different. He’s undeniably beautiful, but he doesn’t carry the arrogance that Azula does. He’s heard stories about the scar, how Zuko got it. They’re all overly dramatic and intensely horrible. Car accident, mental breakdown, romance went wrong. 

No one knows for sure, that much is obvious. All anyone really knows is that it appeared the summer after seventh grade, a scar rather than a cut, seemingly long healed over. 

Zuko holds himself like he’s constantly being scrutinized because he is — not just by his classmates, but by their parents and teachers. It’d be hypocritical of Sokka not to acknowledge that he himself is scrutinizing Zuko at this very moment, studying him in a way that can’t be passed off as just idle curiosity.

Zuko walks slowly across the courtyard, making his way to Suki’s grave. The service is over now, and clearly, the mourners were eager to leave, because it’s now only the two of them in the entire graveyard. 

Sokka lingers behind him, feeling like an imposition. “They put her ashes there, right?”

Zuko levels him with a blank stare. 

“No matter how rich you are,” Sokka rambles, earning an eyebrow raise from Zuko, “you can’t bury someone wherever you want.”

Zuko’s golden eyes see right through him. “Seriously? This is stalking now.” He takes a step back from the grave, watching Sokka intently as he does so. “What do you want from me? Just say it.”

“2002 to 2020.” Sokka says, bypassing Zuko’s request entirely. “Nobody’s life should be so short.”

“Those dates stuck with me, too.” Zuko turns his gaze back to Suki’s grave, his hands coming out of his pockets to touch his neck. “I can’t get rid of the feeling I get here.”

Sokka doesn’t know what to say to that. For all his over-analysis of Zuko’s behaviour, for all his insistence that Zuko was involved in what happened to her, it never quite occurred to him that he would be affected by Suki’s death, too. 

“What?” Zuko asks, suddenly looking at him. Sokka’s probably been silent too long. 

“I’ve just,” Sokka pauses, “I’ve never seen you like this.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “You don’t know me at all.”

“I need a beer,” Sokka says, like an idiot. “What about you?”

“I could go for one,” Zuko says, and Sokka tries to ignore the sudden appearance of butterflies in his stomach. “But not with you.” He turns to leave, taking a few steps in the direction of the exit before Sokka finds the nerve to speak up.

“Do you have a better option?” 

That’s how he finds himself drinking expensive alcohol with Zuko Huo on a school night, in the Dragon, a bar he’s never been cool enough for, though Katara has dragged him here on numerous occasions.

“One more,” Zuko tells him, sliding over a shot glass of clear blue liquid. “We’ve already paid for it.”

“Two hundred bucks a bottle? That’s immoral.”

A flicker of emotion shows on Zuko’s face, gone too quickly for Sokka to register it. “No,” Zuko says. “It’s expensive. That’s all.”

They both down their drinks and Sokka can feel Zuko’s eyes on him. 

“You won’t bring me down,” Zuko says, unfairly beautiful in the bar light. He pours them another round. Sokka tries not to watch the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows. 

(He fails.)

“Can I ask you something?”

Zuko’s lips quirk upwards. It’s almost a smile. “I lost my virginity when I was fifteen.”

Sokka's cheeks redden, and he prays Zuko doesn't notice. “What?”

Zuko looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Is that not what you wanted to know? Those tend to be the kinds of questions I attract.” He’s good at feigning innocence. 

_ He’s good at feigning innocence, _ Sokka reminds himself. “Did you have something to do with Suki’s murder?”

Zuko’s expression changes rapidly, a range of emotions crossing his face before he settles on something akin to understanding. “So that’s it.” Zuko leans forward to whisper in Sokka’s ear, breath warm on his neck.“That’s why you’ve been trying to get close to me.” When he pulls back, getting up from his seat, Sokka immediately misses the proximity. It’s intoxicating, being so close to him. 

Zuko casts one last glance at him, and then he walks into the hallway that connects to the far too extravagant washrooms. Sokka takes that as an invitation to follow him. Zuko stops, resting his back against the entry to the washrooms. His expression is scarily neutral. Sokka grits his teeth. “Did you have something to do with Suki’s death?” When Zuko doesn’t respond, he takes a step closer, their noses nearly touching. “Were you involved?”

Zuko’s golden eyes flicker with an emotion that looks a lot like agony. ‘You couldn’t stand the truth. I can’t, either.” He brushes past Sokka, walking further into the washroom. 

“Try me.”

Zuko turns to face him, glowing in the dim light. “Yes. I had something to do with it. Too much.”

And then Sokka’s left hand is around his neck. Zuko looks unphased. Jesus, they’re so close. “Are you sure you want to do that?” Zuko raises an eyebrow as if he’s challenging Sokka to strangle him. Against his better judgement, Sokka’s eyes fall down to Zuko’s lips. Then he looks back up at Zuko. Zuko, to his credit, looks back at him with widened eyes, and they lean in as if some sort of cosmic force is compelling them-

And suddenly they’re kissing. 

Suddenly they’re kissing, and Zuko isn’t quite sure how they got here. He’s kissed his fair share of boys, but none of them kiss like Sokka, passionate and soft at the same time. Gentle, despite the fact that his hand is currently wrapped loosely around Zuko’s neck. 

That’s a sobering thought. Sobering enough that Zuko pushes Sokka off, walking further into the ornate powder room. Sokka’s watching him, expression a little dazed. His lips are swollen, which Zuko dimly registers as his doing. 

He meets Sokka’s gaze with a raised eyebrow, and Sokka rises to the challenge immediately, stepping into the room, closing the door behind them.

And then they’re kissing again, compelled by an emotion Zuko can’t articulate. 

“I want to know everything,” Sokka says, his breath hot on Zuko’s neck. 

“And I just want you to kiss me.”

If Zuko leans into the contact, it’s because he’s seeking relief from the loneliness that’s gripping him today and nothing more. If he finds himself admiring the blue of Sokka’s eyes, clear even in dim light, it’s just a harmless observation. That’s all. 

If he thinks of Sokka’s hand wrapped loosely around his throat, if Sokka asks questions whose answers Zuko can taste on his tongue and yet all he can think is  _ kiss me _ , it’s only the half a bottle of shared tequila affecting him.

“Guys like you never hook up with guys like me,” Sokka says, cheeks flushed, his dark hair messy from where Zuko has threaded his fingers through it. 

“What would you know about guys like me?”

(Deep down, he knows Sokka must understand him far more than he’s letting on.)

Maybe, just maybe, a small part of Zuko thought things would be different with Sokka after that. Just a small part, the part of him he tries so desperately to destroy - he’s never been particularly lucky when it comes to hope - but he knows that was mere delusion when he sees Sokka in school the next day. “Zuko,” Sokka’s voice is quiet, insistent. Not unlike his tone at the funeral, though it seems a little harsher. 

“What?” Zuko asks, masking his concern with a smirk, “what’s wrong?”

“Whatever it is that you know about Suki’s death, you have to tell the cops.” Zuko wrenches his arm from Sokka’s (somewhat comforting, definitely overwhelming) grip, smirk sliding off his face. Sokka isn’t phased. “No need to go in person. Just an anonymous phone call.”

“Do you really think I was involved-”

“I know you were. You told me.”

“I thought it was a game,” Zuko tells him. “I thought it was what you wanted to hear. That it’d turn you on.”

“Why would that turn me on?” 

“I don’t know,” Zuko deadpans, “You tell me. Because it worked, didn’t it?”

Sokka goes silent, his eyes dropping down to Zuko’s lips before their eyes meet again. 

“Huh,” Zuko smirks, doing his best imitation of a person far more confident than he is, “I never knew you were so interesting.”

That snaps Sokka out of whatever trance he’s fallen into, and he catches Zuko’s arm before it can wrap around his waist. “I’m not another idiot you can make a fool of.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into a classroom down the hallway. 

“So,” his sister’s voice interrupts any attempt Zuko can make to understand exactly what Sokka was implying, “are you together now?”

“Not now, Azula.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Azula doesn’t sound angry, just curious. The sort of idle curiosity a cat has before it kills a mouse. 

“Why?” Zuko echoes harshly, the combination of her disinterested tone and the interaction with Sokka rattling him enough to lash out, “I’m doing this for you. He suspects both of us. I’m….I’m with him to keep him under control.”

Azula rolls her eyes, studying her perfectly manicured nails. “Sure. You’re pretty good at that, Zuzu. Pulling boys in, tugging on their strings. I doubt Father would approve.”

“I don’t care what Father thinks,” Zuko says, though they both know he’s lying. “Do you think I like this, Azula? Do you think it makes me happy?”

Azula’s amber eyes widen slightly, before returning to her normal, indifferent stare. Most people see Azula as arrogant, unaffected, but in truth, she’s just incredibly good at concealing her true thoughts and feelings. It’s a handy skill in a family like theirs. More specifically, with a father like Ozai.

“Just so you know,” Zuko hisses, making sure to keep his voice low, “since the day you told me you killed someone, I haven’t been happy at all.”

“You’ve never been happy,” Azula replies, venom dripping from her tone. She casts a single glare in Zuko's direction before she stalks down the hallway. “Don’t blame it on me.”

…

  
  


“Don’t blame it on me,” Toph deadpans. “Wasn’t exactly my job to find out if the party had a theme.”

They’re at the Dragon, and apparently, tonight is the Red Party. Because everyone is wearing red. Everyone besides Sokka and Toph, that is. They’re both dressed in varying degrees of red, luckily, but not enough to keep them from sticking out like the only two idiots who didn’t get the memo. 

(More honestly, like one idiot and Toph, who does whatever she pleases.)

Zuko, on the other hand, definitely got the memo, if the red button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows (exposing his unfairly muscular forearms) is anything to go by.

As if she senses his attention is elsewhere, Toph scoffs. “Go meet up with your boyfriend. I’m going to see if I can bully Aang into getting me a drink.”

Zuko’s eyes are golden, watching him carefully as he approaches. “Want to play again?” His tone is flippant, but his expression is carefully blank, a look that Sokka is quickly coming to recognize as Zuko concealing whatever he’s thinking. 

“I came to apologize,” Sokka says. “I kind of lost it the other day.”

If Zuko is grateful for the apology, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he brushes past Sokka’s attempt at civility with an offer of his own. “Champagne?” 

“You can’t impress me with your money.”

“Trust me,” Zuko smirks, “my money is the least interesting thing about me.” He pauses, looking Sokka up and down. “Babe.” Given the circumstances, it should sound phony, but Zuko really sells it. 

Sokka internally blanches, but against all odds, manages to keep his expression neutral. “I know. I’ve seen your Instagram.”

Zuko’s Instagram is beautiful, full of professional pictures and selfies that look like they should be hung in the Louvre. Apparently, the rumours about him being in some sort of Vogue photoshoot aren't unfounded. Sokka is not jealous. He isn’t. 

Zuko’s smirk widens. “Did you like it?”

“I did,” Sokka says, “except, I’m nowhere to be seen.”

Zuko doesn’t even pause, despite how fucking ridiculous the phrase that just came out of Sokka’s mouth is. “That’s easily fixed.” He unlocks his phone quickly, but not quick enough to prevent Sokka from seeing his passcode. 030110. A date, probably. He’d wonder what the significance is if he wasn’t so busy committing it to memory. 

They take the picture, and Zuko sets his phone down on the counter, leaning towards Sokka with an expression he can’t quite decipher. 

Thankfully, Toph chooses this exact moment to spill an entire pitcher of wine onto Zuko, covering him in red liquid. He stands up, muttering a string of nearly inaudible curses under his breath. “Sorry,” Toph says, not sounding sorry at all. “Did I get someone?” 

With Zuko distracted, Sokka moves to grab his phone. 

He’s got it, when a manicured hand wraps around his wrist, long black nails digging into his skin. “What are you doing with Zuko’s phone?”

It’s Mai and she looks…..not great. The bags under her eyes are more pronounced than they used to be, it’s clear that exhaustion has taken its toll on her. Sokka tries to get out of her grip, but it’s scarily secure. “You’re all the same, aren’t you? Taking whatever you fucking want. I didn’t have time to break your friend’s legs, but as for you-”

“Mai,” Zuko’s voice is harsh, clear even in the ruckus of the club. “Leave him alone.”

Mai’s grip loosens slightly. 

“He got mixed up,” Zuko says, looking at Sokka. “We have similar cases.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at the phone, which is clearly more expensive than Sokka can afford. “What are you talking about?”

“Let him go,” Zuko snaps, grabbing his phone from Sokka’s hand. His touch is featherlight, but Sokka still feels the electricity from the contact.

“Fine.” Mai storms off, probably to find Ty Lee. Or to drown her sorrows in a bottle of expensive whiskey. Or both. Rich kids are depressing. 

Again, Sokka finds himself following Zuko into the washroom, watching him attempt to prevent a stain on a shirt that probably costs an insane amount of money. He leans against the bathroom door, dimly registering the commotion outside. Toph’s always been uncannily good at creating chaos. 

“Here,” Zuko thrusts his phone in Sokka’s direction, a cautious sort of fury in his expression, “All yours. You know how to unlock it, right?”

“You’re only giving this to me because you’ve deleted anything that might implicate you.”

Zuko rolls his impossibly pretty eyes. “If something could implicate me, I would delete it. I’m not an idiot.” He crosses his arms, unfairly attractive for someone who is currently covered in overpriced wine, “But there’s nothing. I had nothing to do with what happened.”

“I’m not an idiot either,” Sokka snaps, patience waning. “Look me in the eye. What you said wasn’t a game, you meant it.” Zuko’s eyes are watery, so Sokka continues. “You were involved in Suki’s death.”

“Yes,” Zuko says, looking at something in the mirror, “I did have something to do with it, you know why? Because I wasn’t there. She was my best friend since primary school. We drifted apart because I couldn’t handle someone like that. I dumped her for Azula’s friends because they were fun, less intense. So I wasn’t there. Not when she and your friend hooked up, and not that night.” Zuko’s eyes meet Sokka’s in the mirror, and suddenly the room feels very small. “I wasn’t a best friend to her. And now she’s dead.”

Sokka stares, speechless. Zuko just takes his phone back and goes to leave. Sokka isn’t sure, but he thinks Zuko’s hands might be shaking. 

He acts without thinking, his hand grabbing Zuko’s wrist, far gentler than any previous contact between the two of them. “Wait.”

Zuko turns back towards him, expression unreadable save for the dampness on his eyelashes. 

Sokka kisses him. He lets go of Zuko’s wrist, grabs his face, and kisses him. The effect is instantaneous, with Zuko immediately reciprocating, practically melting into the embrace.

And there, in the too-large bathroom of a club that Sokka doesn’t even particularly like, is where it hits him. For all his parties, for all the people he’s surrounded by, it seems to Sokka that Zuko is completely alone. 

It’s different from the first kiss, not exactly caring, but not aggressive, either. There’s something heavy behind the passion, an emotion Sokka can’t quite place. 

He pulls back, expecting the mask to be on again, the expression Zuko seems to have as a way of protecting himself, concealing his emotions. But Zuko, Zuko Huo, patron saint of The Unpredictable, rests his forehead against Sokka’s, his breath soft. 

It isn’t very surprising, really, that they end up going home together. If he hadn’t been so lost in Zuko’s eyes, in the way he looks at him like he’s some sort of miracle, maybe he would have noticed Toph’s dismay. He should probably come to terms with how fucked this is, every part of it. 

_ You’re not doing this for Suki,  _ his treacherous mind supplies, as he and Zuko lay together on Sokka’s ratty couch, and Zuko…...He looks so soft in Sokka’s sweater, his head on Sokka’s chest.  _ Were you ever doing this for her? _

As he watches Zuko turn in his sleep, leaning into Sokka’s embrace like he can’t quite believe he’s there, it occurs to Sokka that he might not know Zuko, but he wants to. And that’s not good. 

The next day, at school, Zuko’s smile is barely there, but Sokka sees it anyway. It’s not an expression he’s used to seeing on Zuko’s face, much less directed at him. It feels right, somehow.

It feels right, somehow. That’s how Zuko knows he has to end things. Because nothing good will come out of them using each other, and neither is getting what they’re looking for, not really. 

He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, a fact which coincidentally disappears when he sleeps next to Sokka. Again, not a good sign. Sleeping next to someone is one of the highest forms of trust, or at least that's what his mother used to say. The irony was that she and Ozai had separate bedrooms. 

He knows it has to end. He just didn’t know ending something so new — a relationship (if you can even call it that) only a few weeks old — would be so difficult.

“This isn’t going anywhere,” he tells Sokka, “you and I, we’re mutually assured destruction. We’ll crumble, Sokka—“

“The scars on your fingers.” Sokka interrupts him, blue eyes focused on Zuko’s hands with an emotion that feels a little bit like anguish. “How did you get them?”

“Cat.” It’s an easy lie, one he and Azula are accustomed to at this point. He’s a terrible liar, but with this, he manages to be at least somewhat convincing. 

“That’s a pretty precise cat.” Sokka says.

“Yeah,” Zuko manages, “not a big fan of me.”  _ You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.  _

After a beat, Sokka looks up, his blue eyes intense even in the soft light of his tiny kitchen. “You're right,” he says. “You didn’t need to come over, you could have just texted me.”

“But if I didn’t...” Zuko trails off, stepping towards Sokka, whose face immediately twists into an expression Zuko can only describe as a sort of resigned disappointment. 

“Don’t.” Sokka says. “You don’t--” He sighs, “I don’t know what kinds of guys you’ve dated--or hooked up with or whatever, but you don’t owe me a consolation hook-up, Zuko. It’s over, that’s fine.”

Zuko takes a step back, suddenly feeling very foolish.  _ It isn’t fine,  _ his brain supplies as he takes another step back, his hands fumbling for the doorknob. He prays he doesn’t look as cowardly as he feels. “Right,” Zuko says, managing, by some miracle, to keep his voice steady. “I’ll see you around, Sokka.” He says Sokka’s name for the sole reason of saying Sokka’s name, because he doubts they’ll have any contact after this. 

“Yeah,” Sokka replies, his normally expressive face carefully blank, “See you.”

If he falls asleep thinking of Sokka’s blue eyes, the closed-off expression on his face as the door closes and Zuko steps out into the hallway that smells of cigarette smoke and laundry detergent, it’s simply the loneliness talking. He’s accustomed to loneliness, knows the ache of solitude like he knows the vast halls of the house he and Azula grew up in.

Once you’ve been alone long enough, falling back into isolation is like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this first chapter! kudos & comments make my year :-) if you wanna talk zukka, hit me up on twitter @phoebridger


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